


Normal Doesn't Exist  (and Other Stories from a Former Night Vale Resident)

by ineedataco



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Ghosts, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Night Vale Shenanigans, Resurrection, Stiles Moves, Stiles comes from Night Vale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-29 21:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedataco/pseuds/ineedataco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How did you get out of the ropes?” the man yells. Stiles puts his hands up in surprise, not wanting to anger the man more. He tries to speak, but can’t seem to find the words. The only thing that spews from his lips is  unintelligible gibberish. “Answer me!”</p><p>“Uhh, well, you made the mistake of tying my hands together, which made it pretty easy for me to escape.” That's all he manages to get out before the man presses his chest harder against the wall, causing him to cry out in pain. His arms flail, and he meets the man’s eyes for the first time.</p><p>The man is very much handsome. His face is far from ugly, and if the hand that holds him up says anything, he’s probably strong as hell. Stiles licks his lips and brings his eyes back up to the man, whose eyes glow with how blue his eyes are. Hot.</p><p>aka the oneshots of a strange boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving Sucks

Moving sucks. That’s the only way to put it. Especially since this is the first time Stiles has moved since his birth.

 

“Dad, I don’t get why we’re here. What was the point in moving from Night Vale in the first place if we were perfectly happy there?” Stiles moves among the sea of boxes, searching desperately for his pencil case. Somehow, in the midst of the moving process, it had gotten lost in the boxes.  Eventually, he finds it hidden amongst the boxes piled against the sofa.

 

“The point of moving was to find a place that fits us better. We’re supposed to have a normal life, and Night Vale? That place wasn’t giving us any semblance of normal.” His father, Beacon Hills’ newest sheriff, had forsaken his job in order for them to move. “I know we lived there while your mother was alive, but that was only because we had to stay there.”

 

It was true. Years before Stiles, the newlywed Stilinski couple rolled into Night Vale on a mission to find a cheap house. Night Vale seemed the best place. Despite numerous warnings, Claudia Stilinski found herself wandering through the dog park one day, only to find herself faced with the group of mysterious hooded figures the locals had warned them about. The figures cursed Claudia for intruding on their land. According to what they told her, she could no longer leave Night Vale. As a result, they were forced to live in the town. From that point on, the chance of her leaving the small town was reduced to zero.

 

Despite the unfortunate loss of her ability to travel, Mrs. Stilinski lived life as thoroughly as she could. She and her husband managed to procure Stiles in the midst of the madness that was Night Vale.

 

Sadly, Stiles’ childhood was confined to whatever he could do in Night Vale. As such, he never got to see the rest of the world. Despite Claudia’s attempts to get Tom to leave with Stiles at least once, she was met with resistance from her lover, who refused to have anything else happen to her while he could stop it. The closest she ever got to leaving was a short trip to Desert Bluffs, which wasn’t even worth the trouble.

 

Stiles is broken from his reverie by the sound of something hitting against his window. He startles, letting out a scream. When he turns around to see a cat, he blushes and jumps onto his bed, burying his head in a pillow. Of all the things to scare him, it had to be that.

 

Compared to life in Night Vale, this cat acts strangely. For one thing, it doesn’t float. Beacon Hills in general isn’t very normal. For the past few days, there hasn’t been a single helicopter flying above the town, and his father hasn’t been introduced to the Secret Police yet.

 

“Dad, I have to go to school soon. Do you think you can handle the rest of the boxes?” Stiles calls, getting up from his bed to retrieve his backpack.

 

His father’s voice echoes from downstairs, “Yeah, I got it. The movers actually helped out quite a bit. Oh, and don’t forget; make some new friends here!”

 

Stiles heads out to his car, deciding to take the Jeep out for the first time in a while. In Night Vale, the Jeep appeared one day in front of his mother, already quite old and beat up. However, it had a few quirks that separated it from the other cars people brought. Its color, an unnatural blue, wouldn’t change. When the Sheriff, appalled by the color, attempted to apply a new coat of red paint over it, he instead woke up the next day to the entirety of the house colored a bright red. The Jeep was the same blue as it was the day before. That had been a hassle to clean up. Back at Night Vale, it gathered quite a lot of respect from the people. Not even the mayor had a semi-sentient vehicle.

 

When he gets to school, he notices people giving his car looks. It makes sense, seeing as none of their own vehicles shine a bright blue. He puts the Jeep into park and jumps out of his car, then proceeds to pat it on the hood, whispering to it his thanks for getting him there without breaking down. The following sounds the car makes probably worry other people, but to Stiles, the sounds are appreciative.

 

For some reason, his trusty Jeep stubbornly stopped talking to him since they left Night Vale.

 

He hears snickers from behind, and turns around to glare at the offenders, as well as warn them off. What he sees next takes his breath away.

 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, taking in the people laughing at him. And they are. The group of students laughing at him is definitely the popular group. A myriad of blond, red, and black hair with matching pretty faces rarely found in high school.

 

As amazing as they look, it isn’t their features that catch his attention. No, what catches his attention are the wolves trailing behind them, playing around with each other, clearly comfortable in each other’s’ presence. A fox trails along as well, occasionally jumping along with the rest of the pack.

 

The wolves trot along, yipping and playing around the parking lot, but no one seems to notice them. The group of them moves closer to Stiles.

 

Without realizing it, his hand reaches out a wolf, which jumps back, as if surprised. “Wolf,” Stiles mutters, trying to coax it towards him.

 

All of a sudden, the group stands at attention. One of the boys withblond hair pushes him against a wall. Strange. They were so far away. How could they possibly have heard him? Or, for that matter, how did that boy get so close so fast? “What did you say?”

 

“Uhh, nothing! Just—I thought I saw a, umm—you know what, never mind. Please don’t hurt me!” The end of the sentence catches in a pained gasp, as the boy pushes him further into the wall.

 

“Jackson, let him go!” Another one yells. This time it’s the redhead who speaks. Really though, it’s more of a strawberry blonde.

 

“You didn’t hear him, Lydia. He called us—“

 

“Whatever, Jackson. Don’t mind him,” the one named Lydia calls.

 

Reluctantly, the boy, apparently named Jackson, lets him go, but not before leaving with a parting shot, “Don’t think I don’t know what you said.”

 

“Umm, sure. My lips are sealed. I mean, I don’t really know what they’re supposed to be sealed for, but whatever. They’re definitely sealed. It’s like glue, you know, closed. Though, I don’t think glue would really be appropriate, seeing as that probably wouldn’t keep my lips shut…” Stiles doesn’t manage to get much further, as the rude boy has already left him alone near the parking lot. “Okay then.”

 

It looks like school isn’t going to be as boring as he thought it was going to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Well, maybe it is pretty boring after all.

 

School passes the normal way: boring and tiresome. The office doesn’t seem too interesting, school colors plastering the walls. The office person gives him a schedule, which he realizes is useless only after he leaves the room.

 

Looking down at his schedule, Stiles comes to realize that most of his classes are the same as the ones he had been taking back in Night Vale. Curiously enough, there doesn’t seem to be any mention some of the classes he took in his old school. Duck and Cover isn’t listed in his transcript; neither is Creature Confrontation or Battle 101. _Whatever_ , he thinks. _I’ll ask about it later_.

 

His first class of the day seems to be English, which he finds to be as boring as always. The teacher doesn’t seem to be showing herself as an example, seeing as she never spoke in Old English, or for that matter, Latin. How is Stiles supposed to learn when the teacher can’t even go into the detail of the words? Stiles sleeps through the class.

 

French doesn’t seem to be all that fun, either. Since he moved, he had to choose a new course language. Beacon Hills High didn’t seem to have any of the interesting languages. Back at Night Vale, he could speak almost fluently with the forest, and he understood the angels, even if his understanding was a little spotty at times.

 

Lunch, however, seems to be a more interesting time. Being new to the school, Stiles doesn’t really have the time to make any friends yet, too busy looking at the schedule and little map in his hands to take notice of anyone. The only things he notices are the group of students with the wolves.

 

From his spot on the stairs, the only place he could find to be alone, he sees that one of the wolves is slowly pacing towards him. He freezes, wondering quickly if he should try again to pet it. After all, it didn’t do him much good the last time he had tried.

 

In the end, he decids to throw caution to the wind. When it gets close enough to him, it sniffs the air, as if testing for ill-will. He reaches out a hand and gently caresses it. The wolf leanes into him. “You’re a good wolf, aren’t you?” Stiles whispers, afraid he might somehow frighten the creature off.

 

He stays like that for another few minutes until it raises its head, flouncing its fur, and leaves Stiles alone once again. He sighs and continues eating his lunch.

 

“Hey, new kid!” a kid bellows from behind him, slapping him on the back in greeting. Stiles almost chokes mid-bite on the sandwich he is munching on, before turning to meet the gaze of a young man. Stiles recognizes him as one of the people in the group of wolves.

 

Annoyed, Stiles spins around to face his lunch again. “What do you want?” He really isn’t in the mood to be bullied, especially on his first day of school.

 

“What did you mean earlier when you said something about wolves?” When he hears this, Stiles frowns. He is sure that any normal person shouldn’t be able to hear him from where the Jackson boy had pinned him against the wall—not to mention, the boy hadn’t even been yelling at the time.

 

“I wasn’t aware people could hear that far,” he mutters.

 

“Oh. Well, uh,” the boys stutters, “Jackson told us what you said.”

 

“And who might you be? Not a friend of that dickbag, I hope.”

 

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t say friend. More like reluctant acquaintances, I suppose. As long as you don’t get on his bad side. He grows on you.”

 

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s too late for me.” Despite being held up against a wall at the time, he didn’t fail to notice the fact that all the other students took the time to look at the group. This kid  is definitely part of the popular group of kids at this school.

 

“I wouldn’t say you got on his bad side.”

 

“Yeah? Then what would you rather say I did?”

 

“Uhh…”

 

“Exactly. So leave me alone so I can eat in peace.” With that, he waves the boy away.

 

The boy’s smile dims, reluctant to go away. Before turning the corner, he yells back, “By the way, my name’s Scott!”

 

It doesn’t slip his notice that that was the direction the wolf had left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luckily enough, he isn’t bothered anymore. On the other hand, nothing interesting has happened since then, and Stiles is bored. He hasn’t made much of an effort to make any friends. Whenever he asks questions, people look at him like he’s insane. How bad is the education system that students don’t even know about the glow cloud?

 

It’s been nearly a month since Stiles and his father moved to Beacon Hills and nothing much has happened. Back in Night Vale, there was a constant flow of action. Here, it’s almost dead silent. If anything, he would say it was too silent.

 

Well, at least it’s the full moon tonight. That means he can finally do the ritual.

 

Before he left, Stiles made sure to pack the ingredients for a book on necromancy from the Night Vale library. This was the only night he could talk with his mother.

 

Of course, he wasn’t stupid enough to try to bring her back to life. He’d seen enough examples of that over the years to know that that would be a stupid idea. He simply wanted a way to talk to her ghost, just like he had been doing before they even thought of moving.

 

Every full moon, he and his father would do the ritual and spend the night with Claudia. Though she could not touch them, she could still talk to them.

 

Sadly, tonight the Sheriff was busy, which meant Stiles was going to have to go alone tonight.

 

His father leaves for the night shift around nine o’clock, leaving him time to gather the ingredients he had stashed around the house.

 

One of the great things about this spell is that it doesn’t require any heavy materials, and it isn’t nearly as dangerous as other methods of necromancy or dark magic. When he first found the book, he asked his Spells teacher about its safety. His teacher responded by breaking it out on the spot, and when it successfully worked, Stiles decided to continue using it whenever he could.

 

After gathering the materials, he heads out into the surrounding woods.

 

The woods aren’t nearly as bad as the Night Vale forest. Not a single peep is heard  as he treks through the woods until he comes upon a spot he found earlier. Usually, he hears the calls of the owls or other nocturnal creatures. Here, it’s as if all the animals are hiding from something.

 

The spot, when he finds it once again, is near the heart of the woods. The area surrounding it is eerily quiet, and offers a flat surface in the shape of a giant tree trunk. He’d stumbled across it one day while taking a quick run. In the past, it had obviously been a sight to behold. With such a great surface area, it had obviously been old. Whoever cut it down should be ashamed of their self.

 

When he gets to the scene, he gets down to start the ritual. It’s a simple one, really, and at this point, he has the whole thing in his head by now. He lays down the ingredients, burning what needs to be burned and chanting whatever needs to be chanted.

 

During the summoning, the silence slowly gives way to the sound of wind. As he continues, it whips up faster, and he unconsciously pulls his jacket tighter around his person.

 

All of a sudden, he hears the sound of a breaking twig. It’s almost silent, and he almost doesn’t hear it. Figuring it to be a small animal at most, he doesn’t pay it any attention.

 

It’s why he doesn’t notice the figure creeping up on him until it’s too late.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles wakes with a massive headache. Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?

 

He tries to move his arms in an attempt to get up, but finds himself tied up. Strange. This hadn’t happened in a rather long time. The last time this happened, he’d been caught by some rather unsightly creatures, and his father had barely got there on time to save him. The mere presence of the ropes has him a bit worried.

 

Thankfully, his father took the time to teach him how to get out of those kinds of predicaments after those events. He’d been repeatedly tied in multiple ways until he could untie himself with minimal effort. Oh well, such was the way of Night Vale.

 

When no one comes up to him after a few minutes, he figures it’s safe to try to escape his binds. Truth be told, the knot itself isn’t that hard to untie, but is done rather tightly, forcing him to scrabble for any kind of purchase. Thankfully, his captors apparently decided to tie his hands together, making his escape that much easier.

 

By the time he’s finished, his hands are sore and chafed, and he’s a bit tired. He hasn’t really had the chance to practice lately.

 

Now that he has the chance to look around, he finds that despite the darkness of the room, a small amount of light still filters from a window. From where he stands, it seems that it is moonlight that filters through, which means it’s probably the same night. He couldn’t have been knocked out for that long.

 

He seems to be stuck in a basement of some sort, if the cement walls have anything to say for themselves. Strewn over the ground are chains and other rather dangerous looking items. So, this is either going to lead to some sort of torture or a sex dungeon of some sort. Either way, he doesn’t want to stay for whatever is going to happen.

 

The window from earlier is barred, so that rules out escape through there. Stiles looks around once more and finds a set of stairs against the far corner. He steps forward quietly, trying to be as silent as possible. The stairs creak under his steps, but the sounds he makes aren’t too noticeable.

 

At the top of the stairs is a door, charred and dark. It looks like it could break at any moment. He contemplates simply kicking the door open, but thinks better of it. What if his kidnappers are just on the other side of the door? With that in mind, he toes closer to the door, and puts his ear closer to it, checking for any sounds.

 

Voices come, muffled slightly by the barrier, one of them sounding familiar. Stiles presses closer to the door, and gasps. The boy on the other side is Scott!

 

“Derek, I’m sorry. I thought he was going to be normal.”

 

“And that’s what’s wrong with you, McCall. Too trusting. Look where that got us this time! He was probably planning to kill us all. This is why I—“ all of a sudden, the surly voice stops, and Stiles’ breath catches. He waits for the stranger to continue, and presses harder against door. Maybe if he just strains a little bit more…

 

All of a sudden the door is ripped open and he’s face to face with possibly the angriest man he’s ever met.

 

Well, not exactly face to face. In reality, he’s pressed against the man’s chest because of the sudden motion of moving the door.

 

All of a sudden, he’s not. He’s put in a rather awkward position, pushed against a wall. Really, he’s been getting caught in these awkward places a lot recently.

 

The man, who sports the beginning of a beard, leans closer and growls. Then he…sniffs. He actually sniffs. What the hell?

 

“How did you get out of the ropes?” the man yells. Stiles puts his hands up in surprise, not wanting to anger the man more. He tries to speak, but can’t seem to find the words. The only thing that spews from his lips is  unintelligible gibberish. “Answer me!”

 

“Uhh, well, you made the mistake of tying my hands together, which made it pretty easy for me to escape.” That's all he manages to get out before the man presses his chest harder against the wall, causing him to cry out in pain. His arms flail, and he met the man’s eyes for the first time.

 

The man is very much handsome. His face is far from ugly, and if the hand that holds him up says anything, he’s probably strong as well. Stiles licks his lips and brings his eyes back up to the man, whose eyes glow with how blue his eyes are. Hot.

 

Then he realizes the man’s eyes are in fact glowing. His breath catches, and he realizes that this definitely isn’t a good situation he’s caught in. He looks around hurriedly, trying to find a way to escape the grip of the man. Sadly, he can’t even find a way to loosen the iron clad hold Mr. Grouch has on him.

 

“Scott, he’s a danger to us! We need to get rid of him now, before he has a chance to kill us all.”

 

And, _no,that is not going to fly._ “Whoa, whoa, I don’t think we need to go that far. Can’t we just let me off with a warning this time? I don’t think we should take this so fa—Oh, my God, owowowow, stop squeezing my arm!”

 

This grip only seems to harden. “What were you doing on the nemeton?”

 

“Nothing, I swear!”

 

“I can hear the lie.” The grip tightens again.

 

“Okay, okay, I was trying to talk to my mom. Isn’t that what normally happens when one’s partent does?”

 

He’s let go, only for the man to whip back around, as if Stiles would try to get away with his arm in pain.

 

“He’s a necromancer, Scott. He’s trying to resurrect the dead. He said it himself.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, that’s not what I was doing!” Stiles interjects, trying to reason with the angry man, who, apparently, is named Derek.

 

“Then what were you doing?”

 

“I was trying to talk to me dead mom, which, now that I think about it, doesn’t help me at all. I promise, I haven’t actually raised the dead sine the first time, and that was an accident.” It was true. It wasn’t a big deal though. The radio station had the time to spread the warning before anyone got bit by the undead. The worst part of the whole experience was that he didn’t even raise his mom. Four of the zombies were actually assholes in real life, so it wasn’t like anyone cared much about re-killing them.

 

Derek glares at him, unconvinced of his innocence. His eyes glow blue again.

 

“Dude, how do you do that? The last time I saw eyes like that was when a shifter got trapped in town.”

 

“He knows about us.”

 

“Oh, so you are a shifter, then. Nice man. I thought there was something weird about those wolves.”

 

At this, Stiles gets two gazes turned upon him. “Is this supposed to be a secret? Back at Night Vale, I got to play with the wolves sometimes. They were a lot of help, especially when the whole fiasco with the  evil orb thing going on.” They really were. The orbs, though they resembled cubes more, didn’t cease firing upon people whenever they got too close. The wolves had to run up to them and chase them out of town.

 

Derek backs away slowly, snorting. “He’s crazy, Scott. He’ll tell everyone.”  


“Hey, I resent that. I’ve lived a very normal life, thank you very much. It’s Beacon Hills that’s weird.”

 

Here, Scott finally finds a way into the conversation, though he seems to be suspicious of Stiles as well. “How so? As far as I can tell, this place is just as normal as any other.”

 

“Well, to start off, where’s the Secret Police? My dad still hasn’t been introduced to them, still hasn’t even been up to their floating base. The dog park doesn’t have the figures. There are no angels either. There hasn’t been anything normal since the moment I came here.” Derek glares pointedly at Scott, a look that successfully conveys a sense of what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you-were-thinking-bringing-this-nutjob-into-our-home. Stiles bristles. “I resent that, too. If the glow cloud were here, I would so make you run toward it.” This elicits yet another glare.

 

“Where did you say you were from, kid?” Derek asks him, creeping closer to him.

 

“Night Vale. It’s a pleasant town, you know, when people aren’t dying because of doppelgangers. Trust me, killing that thing was hard enough without being stuffed inside a Jeep.”

 

“Where are your parents?” Derek seems to be doing an excellent bad cop shtick, something Stiles isn’t used to since the police back at Night Vale always took a lot of time to reason whether any violence needed to be brought down on a citizen.

 

“My dad is the Sheriff. He’s at work. Trust me; he knows what I’m doing. We’ve been doing this ritual for ages.” Hopefully this will be enough to convince them that he’s totally in the right. Sadly, it has the exact opposite reaction he’s hoping for.

 

Derek grabs for him, holding him by the neck, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “This kid just admitted it. We have to kill him now. The sheriff too, if he’s really into this as well.” That’s definitely not gonna fly with Stiles. He starts flailing around, trying to find purchase on the floor again to reach for anything that could help him escape. Derek stoically holds him up in the air, an unimpressed look in his eye. Jesus Christ, does this man ever show any other emotion?

 

As Derek reaches out with claws extended, a sudden burst of wood surprises the three men in the room. With a yell, Stiles’ dad bursts through the shattered remains of what used to be the door. He charges forward to stop Derek, knife in hand.

 

Unbeknownst to Derek or Scott, that knife isn’t an ordinary knife. It’s designed to leave a lasting wound on anything that it pierces, and blessed to always hit where its owner aims. It never left his father’s side, as it was the only thing that was sure to hurt when a situation turned desperate. Thankfully, he’d never had reason to use it. Apparently, it only took the threat of harm to his son to distress him enough to use it.

 

“Drop my son Hale, or you’re gonna regret it,” his father says, attempting to talk this out before bringing out the big guns. Derek simply smirks, bringing his claws out again.

 

“Tell me, Sheriff, did you think I wouldn’t realize what you’re planning?”

 

“What exactly did you think I was planning, again? Because from what I see, the only thing happening here is you holding a teenager, who happens to be my son, as a hostage.” He spares a glance at Scott. “And your accomplice, another teenager. Seems to me that you’re the one at fault.”

 

“Drop the act, witch. We know you’re planning something. Tell us what you’re going to do, or Stiles isn’t going to be so lucky.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Like I said, I was only trying to talk to my mom! Jesus Christ, don’t you ever listen? Listen to my heart, or whatever. I know you can do it. Dad, tell them. They’re werewolves, they can hear lies.”

 

“You distracted him from the ritual? That’s the only time we ever get to see her!” The Sheriff waves his arm in the air, flashing the knife in his hand. Obviously, the new information has angered the man.

 

The tension in the room builds, until Derek finally drops Stiles from his firm grip. “Do it then.” Stiles stares in surprise. “Summon her right here, right now. Prove to me that you aren’t doing anything evil.” With that, the boy jumps into action, looking for his supplies.

 

“Is it okay if I get some privacy here? I mean so I can introduce my mom to you guys? Not that I’m gonna plot any nefarious deeds, because you’d notice.” Stiles looks up to the two werewolves once he becomes aware of the fact that he has no idea where they stored his supplies. “Also, do you mind giving back those supplies to me? I kind of need them to do the whole ritual thing.” Scott rummages through a drawer, then throws a bag at Stiles, containing all of the essentials necessary for the summoning. “Thanks.”

 

Five minutes later, Stiles has completed the initial preparations. He looks around the room once again, expecting no one to be there since it was so quiet. To his chagrin, Derek and Scott hadn’t respected his wish for privacy, only watching in silence as he starts. His dad is still there, knife at the ready. Stiles, knowing he isn’t about to kick the werewolves out, takes a deep breath and start chanting once again, his eyes closed.

 

The wind starts to pick up once again, a signal that he’s about to see his mom once again. Stiles bounces on the heels of his feet, jittery with excitement. He almost forgets others are in his presence until he opens his eyes and sees the two wolves, standing at the ready, wary of any evil doing that Stiles isn’t about to release upon them. He finishes the spell and waits for his mom.

 

The call of his mother startles him. He doesn’t see her, as he normally does; instead, he only hears her. “Mom?”

 

“Stiles, honey. Why did you summon me here at such a dark place? I know you mentioned your move, but couldn’t you have been more careful of where you do these rituals? There are so many sad memories here I could barely make it through to you.” At this, Derek growls once again, leaving Stiles to wonder why he got so offended. “Ah, and who is this? I didn’t think you would catch a man so quickly. Handsome guy, this one. Although, isn’t he a bit old for you?”

 

Stiles blushes. “No, mom. He’s a werewolf who thinks I’m and evil sorcerer that’s about to summon a demon or something to kill him and his pack. I would have summoned you at a place with more power so you’d be visible, but Derek here decided to do things his way.” Mrs. Stilinski makes a sound of annoyance that she’d not been able to be corporeal at the moment. “Anyways, I’m here to prove that no, I am in fact not of the evil persuasion. Well, there was that moment when I got chaotic neutral on that one test, but I’m totally a lawful good.” He looks over to the others on the room, trying to convey his humor, but they don’t seem to get it.

 

“I can assure you that we’re up to no evil, Mr. Werewolf. Although, I suppose it would be rude of me to call you that.” The disembodied voice makes a humming noise for a bit, then squeals. “I got it, I’ll call you Sourwolf!” Stiles cackles, obviously pleased with the name. Derek growls. Whatever. Stiles is totally gonna call him that from now on. “Nice growl, Sourwolf, but I’m afraid that doesn’t scare me. What do you think you’re gonna do, attack the air with your claws?”

 

The Sheriff, now feeling quite ignored, takes this moment to cough to signal his presence. “Claudia?”

 

“Hey, honey. How’ve you been?” The couple devolves into a series of sickening nicknames they have for each other, happily discussing what Claudia missed over the last month.

 

Stiles, not wanting to hear his parents talk, decides to turn to the Derek and Scott again. “Are you happy now? Satisfied that we mean no harm?” At Derek’s nod, Stiles continues. “Okay, now. You can leave. We need some family bonding time.” Derek offers one last glance at the father and son, and makes to leave the room. However, he brings his arm up again to signal that he’s still going to be within earshot in case he’s thinking about planning anything. _Which he’s_ _not_. Stiles sighs and gives up on the man.

 

An hour later finds the two Stilinski men laughing as they make their way out of the house, carefully picking their way through the busted door. Derek stands outside, watching them leave. Stiles’ father offers an apologetic glance his way, claiming that he’ll pay for a replacement door.

 

The Sheriff makes his way over to the cruiser, which he had taken in his rush to get to his son. Stiles, following closely behind, is stopped by Derek’s grip once again, his eyes glistening with barely held back tears.

 

“Derek, are you okay?” Stiles asks.

 

“Can you do that again? Summon other people?”

 

Suddenly it makes sense. The decrepit house, and the sad memories. Stiles, aware of how devastated Derek is about to be, tears up in sympathy. “No. I can only summon people that are part of my family, and werewolves don’t have an affinity for this type of magic. I’m sorry Derek.” Derek’s grip tightens, and this time Stiles doesn’t try to fight it. The wolf is clearly struggling to keep himself together, and Stiles doesn’t want to let him go. Derek sinks to the ground, and Stiles sinks too. From the car, his father watches carefully, but thankfully doesn’t intervene.

 

They stay like that for what seems like forever, with Stiles apologizing over and over for what he can’t change, until Derek looks back up at Stiles, eyes red and puffy, but no more tears roll out of his eyes. The alpha releases his grip, and takes off into the woods.

 

Stiles makes his way over to the cruiser, shaken up by what just occurred. His father doesn’t ask any questions, instead pushing the car into the woods.


	2. You Should Bring the Generator So We Can Become Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finally meets the rest of the pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the wait! I've been struck by several ideas for future chapters, and I always had to work on those before the ideas left. And then there was work stuff, so. Anyways, this chapter itself isn't very long, but I promise the others are coming soon and on a more common basis. Also, better written.

Following the unfortunate night, Stiles’ life goes back to a relative amount of normal. He doesn’t run into the alpha wolf again, and the majority of the pack—because he knows almost as a definite fact that they are werewolves—avoid him as much as possible for kids who go to the same class and share classes. Which is to say, it’s a very trying process and a series of lessons in how to ignore a problem.

 

Except Scott, that is. It seems to be the kid’s mission to befriend the newcomer. A few days after the ritual, Stiles finally notices Scott’s presence hovering around him, as it seems to have been, for a while. He would have noticed earlier, but the fact that the boy is a werewolf seems to have worked to his benefit, since Stiles barely ever found him.

 

A few times, Scott has tried to initiate conversation, apologizing for the night, but Stiles still holds a bit of a grudge against the pack. He tries brushing the boy off, only to find himself being partially stalked for a majority of the school day. Usually Scott leaves him alone when it’s clear Stiles wants to be left alone, departing with a glance and a look of contrite sadness.

 

Until today, apparently.

 

The Night Vale Radio Station seems to be the only one of its type anywhere. Wherever he and his dad traveled on their way to Beacon Hills, Stiles never once heard any stations remotely like the town’s. Never did he hear the soothing sound of a voice anything like Cecil’s, and never did anything exciting happen whenever they passed through the countless number of towns they drove through.

 

Stiles used to listen to the station whenever he drove his jeep around. Now he misses it, especially in moments such as this when he’s subjected to stations that seem to only ever play a selection of three songs.

 

 It happens as Stiles turns the radio. Fingering the dials, he sees Scott in the rearview mirror, riding a motorcycle of all things. Angered and annoyed at this presence, he speeds up a bit in an attempt to make Scott go away. Maybe he’s just on his way home, Stiles thinks. Unfortunately, it seems that he won’t be able to, as every turn he makes, Scott does the same.

 

This goes on until Stiles reaches his house. Scott slows down as well, and Stiles finally gets frustrated enough to yell at the boy. “Seriously, you’re going to follow me to my house? Go the fuck away!”

By now, Scott has moved on further down the road little bit. Upon hearing Stiles’ accusations, he looks over his shoulder and continues toward a house. “I live here,” he states simply, before unlocking the door to the house. He walks into his home, leaving Stiles standing outside in shock.

 

It isn’t possible that the boy has lived so close to him for so long without him noticing. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”  The thought that his supposed enemy was housed so near him runs through his mind. A werewolf, for that matter. Oh god, what had Scott heard him doing with that supernatural hearing? A blush spreads across the boy’s face.

 

_Wait. Wait one second_.

 

Stiles backtracks, thought process intercepted by another idea, this one not as vicious. So far, the pack hasn’t seemed to mock him for his, uh, daily routine, for a lack of better word choice. Which meant Scott hadn’t made fun of him to the pack, since no one had been trying to make fun of him at school. Which, unfortunately, probably meant he hadn’t actively been trying to get close to him because Stiles still counted as the enemy. Which meant that Scott was genuinely sorry about what had happened.

 

_Crap._

 

Stiles is the worst. Or at least, it feels that way. Here he is without friends, at a new school, and someone wants to befriend him. Granted, this was after Scott and Derek kidnapped him, but whatever, it’s not the first time that has happened. He definitely harbors some resentment for the alpha, but whatever moment he seems to have shared in front of the burned out mansion seemed to wipe most of it away. Scott probably genuinely meant his apologies, and Stiles just rejected him every step of the way.

 

Stiles trudges toward Scott’s door, head hung low, and knocks. He wants to apologize now, knowing that he’s probably lost a chance at a friend. Goddamn it.

 

Almost as soon as he knocks, he hears the sound of loud footsteps clattering across the inside, and the door flies open to reveal Scott, with a dejected look upon his face. “Yes?” the boy asks.

 

“Look, I’m sorry about what I said, okay? I was thinking that you were trying to spy on me or something by trying to approach me at school; either that or trying to stalk me, badly, and I didn’t realize that you really meant it when you said that you were sorry.”

 

Scott nods, his frown giving way to a smirk. It’s a bright smirk, the kind that Stiles is used to seeing on the boy at school when he sees him around when Scott’s talking to other people, a casual confidence that definitely isn’t an act. “And?”

 

Stiles sighs, gritting his teeth. It seems like Scott wants to milk this moment for all it’s worth. Which Stiles really wouldn’t appreciate, if he were trying to avoid the boy. Unfortunately, he isn’t. He’s trying to befriend this teenaged werewolf. “Look, can we be friends? I’m willing to overlook the whole thing about kidnapping the sheriff’s son if you are. Although, I do expect an apology from your alpha some time in the future.”

 

Suddenly the smirk lifts into a genuine smile, and it almost blinds Stiles, the boy is so ecstatic. “Great! Come in! We can play Call of Duty, and then get to know each other.” He’s quickly ushered in and then quickly shuffled around the house. That disorients Stiles—he’s used to being the one frantically dragging people around the house when they first come over.

 

By the end of the day, Stiles is invited back, with a new number on his phone (which only plays music he downloads, and not every song he wants on a playlist created by the Secret Police, like his old one did), and an invite to the next pack meeting.

 

\--

 

 

The forest is definitely pretty creepy at night. As it is, Stiles is driving with Scott in the passenger seat, animatedly discussing the fact that the radio doesn’t play anything cool. Scott is of the mind that music is the way to go, but Stiles is relentless in defending local radio stations.

“I’m just saying, we need to be able to learn what’s happening in our local community. Back in Night Vale, we had to listen in to the NVCR every day. It’s literally saved lives before.” It’s saved countless lives, including Stiles’ own. But the opposite was true as well; the station had warned some people too late.

 

“How? I listened to it before, it’s just all boring things, like the announcements at school they do over the PA system. It’s just like,” Scott draws his chest up and intones monotonously, “’Today, there’s going to be a good chance of sunshine. Also, the mayor has announced a curfew due to the recent animal attacks.’”

 

“But it’s so much more than that. The NVCR was always fun, Cecil would talk about Carlos, his boyfriend, and he warned us about stuff like the glow cloud and the doubles that we had to kill. My own almost got to me. I got it in the end, though. It was all thanks to both of us being ticklish. It left him vulnerable enough for me to stab it in the back.” He shudders. The doubles were a grim reminder of some of the creepier things that had happened over the years.

 

When he looks over, Stiles finds Scott staring directly at him, a questioning look on his face. Stiles still doesn’t get it. Why wasn’t Beacon Hills like Night Vale? This place had werewolves, after all. No one seems to get what happened there. Even his father doesn’t like to acknowledge what happened in their old town, like it’s a bad memory he’s trying so hard to forget.

 

“Stiles? How do you lie so easily? I can’t even tell when you’re doing it.” See, Scott doesn’t believe him.

 

“I told you before and I’ll tell you again, I’m not lying. Everything that I said happened.” He can tell that they’re going to argue about the validity of his claims when they putter into the presence of the house in the middle of the preserve, the same one that Derek had kidnapped him to a short while ago. Oh goody. “We’re here,” he says, hoping to avoid this argument again.

 

The pack is already gathered inside when Stiles and Scott walk through the door. The door, now fixed, although fixed seems to be a stretch, as the house around it isn’t doing very well, swings open.

 

Immediately, he’s assaulted by the piercing stares of a pack of werewolves. It doesn’t bother him, though. He knows they won’t hurt him, and honestly probably can’t hurt him right now, since he’s brought along a small bag of mountain ash this time, just in case.

 

That doesn’t stop him from raising his hands up in defense of himself and warily examining each member. Allison is a hunter, Stiles remembers Scott telling him that. So she’s probably not a werewolf, and the rest of them don’t seem to be very menacing as much as angrily curious. Is that even a thing? Whatever, they’re pulling it off.

 

All in all, the situation is pretty depressing. Five of them still seem more afraid of him than he is of them, and Derek lurks in the background, rolling his eyes. Stiles is secretly offended, because he has mountain ash, they should be wary.

 

“Guys, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is the pack.” Scott motions over to the members. “Here we have Erica, Boyd, and Isaac.” Scott gestures to them. “And here we have Malia, Allison, Kira, Jackson, and Lydia.”

 

“Hi, Stiles,” comes the reply, distinctly lacking in enthusiasm.

 

“Wow. Scott, why does it sound like an AA meeting in here? I’m really feeling the love guys, seriously.”

 

“I didn’t either, when you spent such a long time ignoring us,” says Isaac, who is promptly slapped gently upside the head by Allison.

 

“Ok, point. But we’re beyond that point now, right? We don’t have to keep fighting, now that Scott and I are buddies.”

 

“It’s not a fight if you’re the one that kept running away,” Erica scoffs.

 

“First of all, I wasn’t running, I was avoiding, which is a tactic that works one hundred percent of the time when you’re trying to stop an awkward conversation before it happens. Second, it’s not my fault I avoided you. You really expect me to just talk to the people that tried to kidnap and kill me?”

 

Derek smirks from the corner. “Don’t worry, if you died, I would have used the instructions you left with your materials to summon you to talk.”

 

Stiles balks, because, rude. Also, He didn’t expect this level of sass from a man like this, built and hot and just everything Stiles isn’t. “You! How dare you. Scott, he’s being rude to me. Make him stop.” Scott just rolls his eyes and pulls him over to a couch, where he lands Stiles on top of himself to sit. “Aww, boo. I have to give you your lap dance now?”

 

Erica cheers from her spot while Scott blushes. Allison giggles and gives her boyfriend a peck on the lips.

 

“Is anyone else going to pull up the movie? Because if not, I’m setting up The Notebook again,” Lydia says, getting up to reach into her bag to pull out just that. Immediately, several werewolves reach up with super speed to stop her. It’s a mad scramble for the purse to see who can keep the movie away from her. Boyd manages it first, and a sigh of relief flows through the room. Lydia pouts.

 

Derek chooses this time to speak up. “It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. I forgot to bring the generator today.”

 

“What the hell man? Why would you do that? What are we supposed to do now? That’s literally the only reason any of us even agreed to be here,” Scott complains.

 

“Dude, wait. You mean you don’t live here?” Stiles asks. “What was the point of coming here then? We could have just gone over to yours to play a movie and chill. Well, not chill, like the whole Netflix and chill thing, just, I mean, it can’t be any worse than this place, unless that’s why you want to avoid it in the first place. Oh my God. It’s totally worse than this place, isn’t it?” Derek returns to glaring at the boy, and growls. This scares Stiles back into Scott’s arms.

 

“I couldn’t just let a non-pack member into our main territory,” Derek reasons.

 

“Dude, Scott brought me here, and you agreed to let me come to a meeting. You couldn’t have just brought me straight to your base, so we could have this meeting? Also, doesn’t watching a movie kind of defeat the whole, danger-danger feel of having a meeting?”

 

“It doesn’t really matter, Stiles,” Scott explains. “These meetings are just Derek’s way of initiating pack bonding time.”

 

“We have urgent business Scott,” Derek glowers, but Scott ignores him in favor of detailing how one time Derek’s meeting turned out to be an excursion to the amusement park a few towns over. Stiles coos, because how can he not? That’s just too cute.

 

“Derek, we already told you. If Stiles can help us, why not let him at least see the pack in their natural habitat? Can we just head over to the loft already?” Lydia asks, earning a resounding chorus of agreement from the rest of the pack, including Stiles.

 

“Fine.” When Derek pouts like that, defeated, like a five-year-old, Stiles can’t help but flail on the inside. Seriously, how cute is that?

 

Several minutes later, after they figure out who’s going with who, since Scott and Lydia both want Allison to come with them, they make their way over to their respective cars and putter down the path to exit the preserve.

 

When they get over to Derek’s loft, all thanks to Scott, since a certain grump Sourwolf decided not to bother giving him an address and speed the whole way there, Stiles flops over a new couch, only to be kicked off by Derek. “My seat.”

 

“Ok, fine. Jeez. A little warning would be fine the next time you decide to push me,” Stiles grumbles. Ten minutes later finds him squished in the middle of two werewolves, elbow to elbow, because they hadn’t expected the newcomer and were therefore short a few chairs.

 

“We’re here to discuss the apparent business Stiles has here in Beacon Hills,” Derek states, calling the meeting to order.

 

“I told you before, there isn’t any business going on here, funny or not. My dad needed to move away from Night Vale, and it let us.”

 

“What it? Why weren’t you allowed to leave?” Derek challenges.

 

“I told you, Night Vale. The town itself let us leave. Usually, it doesn’t let people leave once they get there, and people end up right back where they started, literally. I don’t know, maybe it felt bad that we were forced to stay there for so long.”

 

“He’s not lying, Derek,” Isaac says. He seems exasperated that Derek’s seems intent on finding anything bad about Stiles. Which, Stiles is too.

 

“Cities aren’t sentient. Nothing he says about Night Vale makes any sense. It has to be a lie. A spell of some sort. He’s playing with us.”

 

“Oh my God Derek. Literally everything he has ever said makes no sense. Can’t we just let this be? It’s totally possible that his town was supernatural. We are too. Our town may as well be, with everything that’s been going on.” It’s Allison this time, coming to back Stiles up now. He feels proud of new maybe-friend. “I thought we brought him here to become friends with him.”

 

Stiles sighs contentedly, happy that this won’t blow up into a “Yes please. Let’s get to the friend making then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to be combined with another, but I thought it would have become awkwardly long, so I chose to separate them because they're so different. This itself wasn't too long.


	3. In Which Stiles' Uncle Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Portals are a funny thing. People came and go. I finally updated...Hooray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing. I have ideas, and no motivation. Soooo, I can't honestly promise any update times. Just know I have most of the next chapter written and I'm plotting the one after as well.
> 
> Side note, don't expect much plot out of this. This is a series of oneshots that are in the same universe but aren't really linear. I write when the idea strikes me. Also, I don't have a lot of time to watch/listen to stuff, so being out of character is a given.

A few days later, as a show of their new friendship, the pack invites Stiles into the preserve to watch them play around in their beta forms. Stiles thinks this might be a form of relaxation for them, as they don’t really have anyone in the know who isn’t trained to killed them. He’s glad he can give them the time to totally chill in his presence, and that they really want to be with him.

He’d asked, when approached, why they had chosen now rather than the next full moon, and not gotten much of an answer. “You’re our friend,” Erica had said, as if it was obvious. “And we want to have fun with our friends.”

Honestly, having friends like this seems is the best. He never really had too many friends growing up. Some of them died, and some of them disappeared over the years, and Stiles got used to it. Even in Night Vale when he had friends, he never had such a large group of them. It’s just awesome.

Today, it’s warm. The woods, less dense in this area, but still far enough away from civilization so as not to arouse suspicion, provides just enough cover for the sun to not blind him. The pack is there, still in human forms. Well, mostly human forms. Several of them are in their beta shift, already readying themselves to shift and prance around their territory. Some of them, notably the humans, took to the sidelines for them most part, conversing with one another.

It’s during this time that someone speaks up. “Stiles, how did you know that there were wolves here in the first place?” Allison asks.

“Oh, I saw their wolves prancing around them when they were walking around school. At first I thought it was pretty cool, and I was jealous because I haven’t been allowed to bring a pet to school since the Scouts brought theirs back. Then I saw their forms, and really, my magic made it easier to reach a conclusion.”

Allison nods, then frowns. “I thought only certain types of creatures could do that?” Stiles doesn’t have an answer to that, so he just shrugs. There’s a lot of stuff that goes unanswered in life, and sometimes it’s not really worth it to questions why it’s so.

 The day is calm, and Stiles rests on a rock, simply watching the pack play around, when a bright flash of light momentarily blinds him and the pack. He yells and flails around, then attempts to readjust his eyes to the light. He looks left, toward the direction of the brightness. He hates that what he sees surprises him, but he can’t really help it, especially since it’s so out of left field.

 Stiles has only gotten to see his uncle so many times in his life. Between his busy schedule and constant search for news, Cecil never had much time to take a break and visit his nephew. Well, he was Stiles’ uncle not because of blood, but because of the close ties the Sheriff had had with the man. The Sheriff had to monitor what was said during the airing of the station, after all. Perhaps this was how the Stilinskis had met the man, but truthfully, Stiles didn’t know.

 His uncle stands in a clearing not too far away from the wolves, who have already seemed to recover and are making their way to him, as Stiles watched from afar. Cecil seemingly ignores the pack of wolves, instead scanning the clearing for any sign of a familiar face. When his gaze meets Stiles’ he waves and grins. Stiles returns it and finds himself rushing towards his uncle’s arms before he even realizes it.

 “Hello, Stiles,” the man intones, “Do you happen to know where I am?” Stiles gapes up at the man, staring in wonder at how he ended up here. “Last I remember, I was talking to Carlos, whose hair, of you’re wondering, is better now after Telly the barber disgraced it.”

 “Oh, that’s good to know, Uncle Cecil. We’re in Beacon Hills, by the way. My new home. And these are my friends.” Stiles waves attention over to his pack, who stare at the man. A few of them are snarling, but Cecil doesn’t try to hide the fact that he isn’t fazed in the least.

 Cecil giggles at their antics. “Cute, aren’t they. This reminds me of the time we found those werewolves down by the non-existent house. You were so sad when they disappeared.” Now the pack is alarmed, wary of what was just told to them. He giggles again.

 Stiles pats his uncle on the back, before offering to show him around the city. “Before you leave again,” he says, though it’s really not certain that he will leave. This sparks a conversation between them on whether Station Management would eventually care enough to make another portal to bring him back. Also, contrary to belief, the portals were not in fact circular, a fact which movies always got wrong. They’re triangular with a series of four edges.

Their conversation garners a few looks from the pack, which Stiles doesn’t get, since what he’s talking about makes perfect sense. It seems Night Vale’s schooling isn’t as useless as he thought.

They’ve both resorted to sitting at the edge of the clearing the pack is playing in. Hours pass before Stiles offers to bring his uncle back to his house. All this time, the pack has been on watch for his uncle, although Stiles has been trying to convince them of his general goodness. When they still remain unconvinced of his safety, he recounts the tale of how he joined the entire town together to get rid of that one unknown driver. They recoil, though Stiles still believes that his own uncle had brought an entire community together to protect them. He defends him, of course.

On their way, they establish the fact that the reason behind his uncle’s appearance is a sudden, shocking, almost frightening visit, but nonetheless welcome. They resolve to make the most of this trip together, though both of them agree that the trip won’t be long. “This reminds me of the time that other person took over the station.” His uncle shivers.

They reach the house eventually. Four of the pack has decided to remain behind, watching their conversation from afar. The rest of them have elected to close ranks around Stiles, attempting to block him from his uncle. Cecil either hasn’t noticed their hostility or is ignoring the problem. Sometimes he does this kind of thing. One time he ignored someone, and the person had disappeared.

“Uncle Cecil, I don’t want to alarm you, but dad has been acting up a bit lately,” Stiles states, before making to the door. “He’s nothing like the sheriff back at Night Vale. I’m pretty sure it’s because of the Secret Police, or rather, a mysterious lack of them, but the main point is that he’s not the same person anymore.”

“As to be expected. The Secret Police probably hasn’t elected to make their presence known. As they should.” Stiles shrugs, accepting the statement, though he doesn’t believe it, and opens the door to reveal his father, already home from his job. His father is sat by the dinner table, paying no attention to the two people who just walked through the door.

“Ahh, John, nice to see you again!” Cecil practically yells, startling the sheriff. “It’s always nice to see that you still get surprised by my visits.”

“Cecil, how did you get here?” the Sheriff exclaims, trading hugs with the visitor.

“I don’t know. I believe it may be another portal opening. After all, we have been experiencing them recently. One person recently got stuck between two vertically placed portals, and has been stuck in a never-ending fall, gaining speed over time. How about you?”

“It’s been rather calm lately. None of the usual antics of Night Vale.” John doesn’t seem to get that it’s Beacon Hills that’s strange, not Night Vale.

“Ah, I see. You never seemed to pick up on how Night Vale could have been a normal place. After all, you seemed fixated on how abnormal you thought it was.”

His father sighs, takes a seat on a chair. “It isn’t normal. Frogs don’t give birth to living pillows.”

“They could if you let them. I keep telling you, the law against pillow fights wasn’t very well thought out.”

“Oh my God.” The Sheriff raises his hands to the sky, giving up on the conversation. “Cecil, why are you here?”

“I don’t know. The last time a portal appeared, I was transported to another station. I figured, if I do this, where would I go this time? After all, you know, as a reporter, I have to report everything I see. And if I wasn’t so inquisitive, how could I do my investigative job? Carlos appreciates that from me.”

“Of course, he does, Cecil. He appreciates everything you do, just like you do with him. Honestly, I question how you two always seem to have so much tolerance for one another.”

“I keep telling you, relaxation is the key. The high-level stress of your job makes you more susceptible to fits of anger.”

“If you want high stress, try raising Stiles for a day or two. I swear, he finds trouble almost as easy as his mother ever did.”

“I’m sure,” Cecil agrees.

“I resent that!” Stiles exclaims. Near him, the pack has settled into the living room, and don’t seem to have become any more comfortable with the situation surrounding them.

Really, Stiles shouldn’t be so happy as much as confused, but he’s so excited to see someone from his old life that the giddiness overpowers the confusion. Although he’s sure that Cecil will have to go home soon, he’s excited like he was on the first day of school all over again.

The afternoon settles into a soft glow, with the fading sun radiating under the window. The pack, though still a bit uncomfortable with the fact that a man had come through a portal, go back to their usual antics at the Stilinski household. Stiles balances his excitement at his uncle’s return with his time playing around with the wolves. The wolves get to listen to Night Vale stories, from Stiles’ perspective, and Stiles asks about what’s new around town.

Cecil says that there is a new scholarship available to parents who wish to buy cooking materials. Six essays, four thousand words each, about how much they hate cooking and why they shouldn’t cook, and they would get a collection of cookware that doesn’t really act up. The scholarship must be turned into the correct lockers before the hours of four to three in the afternoon. Stiles loves the idea, and asks if his uncle had done it.

“No, but that’s because I already own a set. I’m very lucky, after all. Cooking is so much easier when there aren’t so many limbs involved. But what about you? Surely there has been more exciting news than werewolves.”

The boy shrugs and answers. “There really isn’t much. The radio stations aren’t as involved here, and they don’t sound as cool as you when there are talk shows. I tried listening to podcasts, but there aren’t many that are as soothing as your voice on air.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe I can ask Station Management to send you one of their extra radios. They’ve been handing them out to the Scouts who want to go camping recently.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, though there’s no guarantee that they will agree to such a thing. You know how they are when it comes to letting go of things.”

“They don’t.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m going to get you one.”

Stiles squeals, diving into Cecil’s arms. It’s a tight hug, especially since Stiles and his uncle are both pretty tactile with each other. Honestly, it’s probably one of the happiest moments in Stiles’ life since he got out of Night Vale. The birds are probably singing outside, the sun seems brighter, and everything is really good.

The rest of the pack doesn’t have much of a clue as to what they’re missing, and aren’t really interested in hearing what they have to say. The man that they’ve been watching really seems to be a docile person, so they wave him off. Lydia, however, does. Breaking into the moment, she finally loses her mind on how exactly Cecil came to be in Beacon Hills. “How does a person get into a portal not once, but twice? Not only that, it seems like this place is really supernatural.”

Cecil shrugs, and sighs. “Night Vale is a wonderful place. Everything there is completely normal, although I’ve heard from people like John that there are strange goings on in the town. As far as I and the citizens are concerned, however, there is nothing wrong with a little excitement.”

Lydia snorts, obviously of the opposite opinion. The sheriff is the same, face souring, although slightly different. It’s not completely distasteful, but he clearly doesn’t agree with everything the other man just said. “Explain,” she says. Stiles sighs. Sometimes people just don’t understand what Night Vale is like.

Cecil settles on the side of one of the couches, giving a little wave over to Lydia and the pack. His voice drops to the low tone he uses on the radio, dripping with seriousness and lower, calming yet powerful. It’s the voice that captures the spirit of Night Vale.

The pack settles in, ready to hear his story. Stiles sits as well, even though he lived through some of the things that his uncle describes. The pack loves it. Unlike when Stiles tried to tell his stories, Cecil seems to capture the minds and imaginations of the pack, a skill that Stiles has never seen in another person. They sit down, and the afternoon passes in a rush of nostalgia and wonder, and the occasional facepalm from the Sheriff, when he is brought up.

Hours later, it seems, Cecil suddenly silences his storytelling, coming to his feet, and walking to the window. Outside, it is dark, but they can see something there. Out of some sort of instinct, they know what it is, and who it is for.

“Well, it seems it’s time for me to go.” Cecil starts towards the door, only to be stopped one more time by Stiles. They hug one last time, and Cecil lets go.

If Cecil’s entrance was a shock, his exit is anything but. They don’t know why, but the whole situation is solemn, as if they are saying goodbye to a friend. They don’t know him very well, except for the Stilinski men, but it feels like they’re just as related. It’s the same with the portal.

When he disappears, a small radio lies in his place.

**Author's Note:**

> This is un-beta'd rn, and I made an error with the tenses, so if you would like to beta this or notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to leave them in the comments.
> 
> Also, as this is actually (sadly) a thing, I don't want Goodreads or any other reposting of this work.


End file.
